


La Jeune Fille Fantôme

by brynhildvelvet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Class 2-D's maid cafe, F/M, Heist, M/M, Maid Akira, Maid Ren, Maids, School Festivals, akiren in a maid dress ok, genderfluid p5 protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynhildvelvet/pseuds/brynhildvelvet
Summary: this is a collection of fics about ren amamiya akira kurusu as a maid, doing whatever maid things. working at a maid cafe, killing rich old men in their sleep, charming hearts left and right, there will be aus and there will be canon.1. café maid velvet: who exactly will ryuji encounter when he goes to a maid café for the first time? (pegoryu) no powers au with no pt2. sex and the murder: akira and his partner have to spend their adrenaline after a successful heistsomehow. (akeshu) rated e3. the myth, the man, and the maiden: class 2-D does a maid cafe for the school festival! time for you know who to step up to the plate.





	1. café maid velvet

**Author's Note:**

> this day was long coming but i'm diving in deep with this self-indulgent shit. prayer hands for artists out there who inspire the world everyday.
> 
> if you want to see me cry about joker somewhere that's not in a fic i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/brynhildvelvet) as well :3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some [maidkira](https://twitter.com/p555_sw/status/869586336516194304?s=20) [art](https://twitter.com/CaimGame/status/1126884707763834880?s=20) for the soul

“Hello, Maid Velvet here! What can I get for you, master?”

It’s said in a deep voice.

 _What_. the fuck?

Ryuji looks up from the menu he had ducked behind upon contact with this establishment because, what did he just hear?

He sees a maid standing next to his table. Which makes sense because he's in a _maid café_.

And forget whatever he was wondering about. His waitress is _hot as shit_.

Lush, dark eyelashes. Lustrous shiny lips. Said lips that are currently curling into an amused little smile.

Ryuji’s gaze travels up, looking into the other’s gaze, although he doesn’t register the expectation for the voiced question in those cute, cat eyes. Kind of distracted here.

“Master?”

Ryuji snaps to attention in a hurry. Crap, was he just staring at them like a dummy?! Just how long was he doing that??? Fuck, that’s embarrassing. Even if they were smouldery, pretty eyes.

“Oh! Oh, uh, yeah!”

The maid hums at his nonanswer. At least, they look amused, as though they find Ryuji funny even with his fumbling and impromptu staring.

“It's okay, I do get stares a lot." They run a hand through the little waves of hair at the base of their neck, tossing their head and exuding sassiness, especially with their other hand perched on their hip. Then, they step closer imperiously to dance a hand along the edge of the menu in Ryuji’s hands. "So, answer me, master, what would you like from our menu, today?”

He notices their nails are painted a bright pinkish red. Neat and round. Ryuji is hyper aware of the maid as they lean closer to join him in looking at the menu. The flare of the black linen skirt they're wearing brushes softly against his arm.

“Um!” He turns away before he gets incessantly distracted again. Scanning the menu in a rush, he orders the cheapest thing there. A sandwich set that includes strawberry cream as well as chicken salad ones.

Right before the maid leaves though. Ryuji has to ask the question that’s been bumping around his noggin this whole time.

“I was wondering," As he pauses, they merely look at him inquisitively after turning around to listen to him. "Uh, are you a girl?”

The maid purses their lips. One little pinkish-red petal adorned finger pressing and pushing their bottom lip up. It’s supposed to distort their mouth in a way that looks ridiculous but it’s endearing instead. Whether they are aware of their guileless appeal, Ryuji cannot tell.

It works because Ryuji’s eyes don’t know where to rest.

“I am a girl, I suppose.”

What? “Wait, but your voice-”

“Sweetie,” they lean close, a resigned look marring their face, they prop their arms up on the table, “don’t worry about things that aren’t your business. Take my answer or don’t bother.”

They smile, sweet and light as spun sugar. Altogether insubstantial when all of the pieces come together. Their eyes crinkling up to hide excessively and the smile melts away quickly. It leaves Ryuji feeling like he missed an important cue. His gut drops with regret.

He opens his mouth.

“I-”

“I’ll let you off because you’re cute, but watch yourself.” They had been speaking politely to him, but right now their facade drops, their tone losing its affected cadence. Their face demonstrates its ability take on harsh lines, a transformation from the alluring, sensual arrangement of before. An irritated air emanates from the sharp wave of their hand.

“Now then, master, wait patiently and I’ll be right back with your order!” With that phrase, their voice had switched back to the chippery tone.

They straighten up and flashed him a sweet-sly smile full of teeth. Ryuji searches for derision in the corners of their lips but they have adorned their face with a perfect mask.

Ryuji sits there at a lost after they’ve left. Still reeling from the shame of his mistake. It's best he just follows their advice, no point in wondering too hard about why this why that. They're strangers.

It's easier to just appreciate this person for what they are, and hell. There's a helluva lot to appreciate that's for sure.

Their full skirt swishes as they walk away, hips swinging to the length of their stride. Right before they disappear behind a nearby booth to take another order Ryuji catches glimpses of the bit of creamy skin flashing from between their black thigh high socks and the edge of their skirt.

Damn! He was staring again. Scrubbing at his hair Ryuji picks up his phone for a distraction.

How did he land in this situation?! Going to a freaking maid cafe alone!?

Right, he lost a bet to freaking Mishima. Of course that guy would make him go to an expensive maid cafe to “gather data” and “report back to him.” Next time he has to drag the guy with him or he ain’t doin’ this shit.

Although...he’s kinda glad he came alone. Mishima wouldn’t even be able to look in the direction of this maid, much less in the eye. He’s gonna brag nonstop to him later.

Daring him go to a maid cafe alone and missing out, hah! Joke’s on Mishima.

He sits back in his chair, looking around the place. It was classier than what he expected from a maid cafe, but honestly what did he expect? Campy pinks everywhere? Uncomfortable chairs? Lots of girls who are either not very comfortable being maids or are really into it?

Well one thing's for sure, Ryuji didn’t expect a girl like this. Not at all.

Maybe he would be inclined to say they weren't really girlish. But they were still really beautiful. Looking at the maid outfits in this particular café, Ryuji thinks his maid wears it the best. It fits her to a T.

All the frills, the apron that starts right under the boobs, the double line of buttons, a wide red bow at the neck. Everything conveys sleekness alongside luxuriousness, and looking at that maid, they embody it. Whatever this place wants as their inspiration, Ryuji can only believe she was it.

How was she so graceful at it too. Swishing around the café in her ensemble. The black shirt perfectly lining her strong back. Each step she takes looked like the next move in a choreographed dance as she sailed around the place.

She laughed at something a customer said and there was something so stupidly charming about it. Her dark eyes crinkled up but she still held herself with poise and restraint. She seemed reserved from the way her curly black hair falls over her eyes, hiding them, but she had looked straight at Ryuji without hesitation.

And he didn't know much about makeup, but she had to have something magical going on. Those eyes were too lethal and those cherry red lips too vibrant to be real. Even the line her cheekbone and the corners of her eyes seemed to be glittering to Ryuji…

Like a freaking fairy or some shit…

"Here you go, master!"

Just like that she had floated to his side again, plonking down his food in front of him. With her hips swaying making the skirt floof so attractively every time, it was like she was maid royalty plus being a model as well. Just from her gait.

"Thank you…" Ryuji pauses. "What is your name again?"

"In here, I am addressed as Maid Velvet. At your service." She steps back to curtsy with a flourish. "While you are here, I will be your main maid."

“Uh, nice to meet you, my name’s Ryuji.” He offers.

"Hmm. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I know you’re a first-timer here. If there's anything you need at all," Velvet smiles slyly, "Just call for me my dear master."

"And," her eyes lower, her hand coming up to beckon toward him. Ryuji find himself automatically tilting his chin up toward her as she gazes down. "I have a task for you, if you are willing." He nods hurriedly in agreement.

He really wants to make up for his mistake earlier.

"Keep your eyes on me, and you will please me, master." She simpers.

Her eyes sparkle with the deep depths of an ever-changing will. She leaves him, looking over her shoulder to possess his gaze until she can no longer. Ryuji didn't notice how close she had been to him until she looked away.

It was almost like she was going to kiss him!! She was so close just now!

Ryuji feels his face warm up uncontrollably as he thinks about what just happened. Just what would've it been like to kiss her? She must smell so nice, a person like her. He wasn't able to catch it because he realizes he had unconsciously held his breath the moment she had hovered her captivating face a mere foot or less from his own.

As he watches, she doesn't seem to get as close to her other patrons as she did to him. She flirts definitely, or she plays up her charms for them, but she doesn't threaten to kiss them as she did with him.

Ryuji feels himself blush whenever she looks over at him and catches him staring again. She's just the prettiest thing he's _ever_ seen he can't believe it.

Velvet doesn't seem to mind at least. She appears to preen when she catches him. For the first time since he's met her she shows some nervousness, reaching up to curl one index finger into her short curls briefly.

She even seems a bit flustered, but that makes the two of them. She didn't seem to expect that he would actually follow her words, but at least that means now they're both ensnared in this game they've started.

If it was just Ryuji who can’t get enough of looking at her, he would feel like a creep. Now they’re both locked into it. Continuously catching the other person looking at them and playing shy. But neither of them stop; shamelessly going in for more and more.

It’s when he’s finished with his food that she heads for him again. This time balancing two colourful drinks on the silver tray in her hand. She stalks over to his table, little kitten heels clicking on the ground.

“Oh, oh,” she purrs, “you pamper me so well, master.” Velvet sets down the tray, placing one of the glasses squarely in front of him and turning it so the striped straw faces him.

“And,” she says, before he can ask, placing a finger up to his lips, “this is your reward. On the house.”

Then, Velvet walks to the other side of the table to the other chair. She fluffs out her skirt neatly before plopping down on it.

Ryuji splutters. “You’re going to sit with me?!”

“Mmh, yes, maids do get to follow their whims to provide the best service.” She morphs her face into great satisfaction, now beguiling with an impish smile. “And. I. Chose. You.” She walks her hand across the table to poke him in the chest.

“Oh.” Ryuji valiantly doesn’t squeak out from the hit of that poke and all her implications. “My friend is going to be so jealous of me.” He blurts instead.

“What is there to be jealous of?” Ryuji splutters incredulously again at that. Velvet's smile takes on the edge of a smirk.

"Well, because he…"

And for the rest of his allotted time, Ryuji finds himself spilling his guts to Velvet. He doesn’t know, he wanted to impress her he guess. It's not like he talks about anything too personal, just his classmates, the homework he has to do, his professors. The alcoholic drink Velvet made for him doesn't exactly help. It tastes like roses and rum, going down deceptively light and smooth. Over the course of their exchange he falls into intoxication.

Intoxicated from the drink but also from Velvet's presence next to him. Her fluttering eyelashes, her rapt attention on him. For the first time he was close enough to notice the little black heart painted next to her left eye. That little heart works magic, drawing his eye to it, which then leads to her glinting eyes.

He was hooked on her cheekbones that looked so lovely and smooth, her chin cupped in one hand flashing her nails at him. They leaned so close to each other over the table, stuck in their little world.

She laughed at his cursing and offered up eloquent dissing of her own. Coming alive with her own gesturing. Velvet was elegant, crass, adorable, wicked; she sat with her petticoat laid demurely over her crossed knee as she passionately describes a bar fight she was once caught up in, complete with mimicked punches. Ryuji was left with an image of a battle maid, leaping over tables and sweeping legs out from under people as her dress flairs in her wake.

When their time was up, the hour and a half Ryuji was dared and paid to endure, Velvet got up to send him away at the door after he paid. They stood in the alcove by the entrance, where they shared the last moments shielded from the rest of the place by a screen.

In the dim light, they lingered. Although they didn't have much time, any moment the door would open and someone would walk in on them, this moment feels too intimate even though realistically it really wasn't.

Now that Ryuji is standing, he sees Velvet has a couple inches on him. Without her heels she might be around the same height as him. His terrible posture notwithstanding. Still that doesn’t stop him, in his rosy haze, from stepping closer to her.

Her quiet laughter dying down from their last quip, she doesn’t react adversely to his proximity and Ryuji takes the opportunity to slip an arm around the curve of her waist. His arm settles comfortably as he swings her around in a circle, laughter emerging from her and chuckles from him as they spin.

When they settle, her bangs are a mess across her eyes as she peers down at him. She is a comfortable warmth against him as she leans her body into him. With one hand, Velvet brushes a thumb over his cheek and he grins loopily at her.

“I had fun, master.” She whispers, low and rumbling. Then she steps away, spinning so her back is pressed against his chest, all the layers of her maid dress imprinting onto him, starched and impeccable. He swears he’ll feel that shit all the way home and for longer.

“Come back to see me, okay?” She leans back to kiss his neck. Vaguely damp and sticky and she pulls away, catching his hands then letting go. They both turn, he for the door, she to retreat behind the screen with one last look at the other over their shoulders. He pulls the door to the cafe open and steps outside.

The late evening sky greets Ryuji, his nose assaulted with the smell of smoke and exhaust and pavement and food, oh my god it feels like he’s been transported to another world. The heck. It’s not too late yet, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since he walked in there.

He wanders down the sidewalk slowly. His mind still on Velvet and his last image of her. Damn, it feels so illicit, from the way they parted. Well, she’s a maid, he’s probably not the only person she charms daily. He catches himself wondering, now that he isn’t caught up in her presence, whether she really liked him at all.

Still, she made him feel so special, it makes him want to keep this a secret from Mishima for a bit longer. Heading toward home, he wonders when he’ll see her again.

 _Maid Velvet, huh…_ Ryuji wonders how someone like her came to be. Such a mysterious person, indeed.


	2. sex and the murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> links to aerobe10's [art](https://twitter.com/aerobe10/status/996033683822800897?s=20) which is my [inspiration](https://twitter.com/aerobe10/status/996649809200144385?s=20) for this one

Akira scented the wind, as you do, when you're on a heist, because underneath his skin he's bubbling with excitement, and the muggy night breeze exacerbates it. It's charged with an approaching thunderstorm, one which won't arrive ‘til he's well on his way home. He always makes sure of that.

Nose to the wind, he captures notes of summer, the earthiness of mulch laid in the grounds nearby, the night sky crisp and new. Below him, streetlights twinkle merrily. This sort of neighborhood belonging to lords and riches doesn’t feature many late night stragglers.

Everything is in place for him. He's got his grappling hook, his glock concealed in his coat, his dagger strapped to his leg, lock picks on lock.

And of course, his errant, irritable partner.

“Hello? Calling all detectives on duty.” He serenades into the wind playfully. Perched on the ridge of the roof. He just needs the signal to get started.

“Shut up, you nuisance.”

Akira lets out a bark of laughter into the air. “Oh, sorry, last I heard, you love me.”

“Only through pure coincidence. I seem to have forgotten why I would express such a sentiment, you’re going to have to prove it to me again.” Akira hears a gun being cocked in the background. His partner always being one to check, double check, triple check everything. They’re a good combo. Akira keeps him wild, and his partner keeps him somewhat domesticated, considering endings and possibilities with a meticulousness that drags down Akira’s mood sometimes, to be honest.

Don’t get him wrong, he keeps his ends tied up pretty well, if preferring to flirt a little too close to danger.

“Hmm, you know I love playing these games with you.” Akira lays the sultriness on thick, husky and low. Pulling the other's pants.

“Keep your dick in your pants, horny dog.” His partner favors using every insult in his arsenal when talking to him. Akira’s had enough experience to know that’s just his preferred speech pattern, and that honestly it means Akira is respected by him enough for him not to hold his tongue. Years in the underground does that to a person. Taints their tongue, making them play games with their words but taking no bullshit from others.

“Ah ah, wouldn’t you want to know what pants I’m wearing, panties actually, to be exact.”

“I have no doubt I’ll find out.” Goro says, dry as a desert.

Akira giggles, by now he’s scaled down the building to wiggle one of the windows open. He had left it loose himself, earlier in the day.

His partner grunts into his earpiece as he rappels onto a lower landing. Akira knows that he is located on the opposite side of the house on the north east corner.

“Now.”

At the command, Akira drops down through the window, landing squarely on the plush carpet and rolling to his feet. The room he finds himself in is ostentatious, with golden leaf embellished white leather couches and large framed paintings of ancestors. Silver candelabras glint in the moonlight. Now, back in the day he would snatch all of them up to pawn for some pocket change but he’s come a long way since then.

He strides through the doorway clean. His heeled boots clicking on the floor. It's dark and empty in the hallway, as should it be - it's two in the morning - everyone's all tucked up in bed. He passes a round, hanging mirror as he strides through and he takes a moment to admire himself, winking at his reflection.

And from there, he has a ball searching through the rooms. This house’s security systems are laughably incompetent. He skips over infrared wires in doorways and disables trip wires. Strolling through the mansion easy as anything.

“Hey talk to me, babe.” Akira calls, pick locking a door. One of many, seeing how large this place is.

“Don’t worry about me. Just sniffing out our fat cat.” Akira pushes the door open to take a look in the room as his partner continues talking. “I’m going to relish this one.”

“Personal grudge?”

“Hmm, I hate types like him. Abhorrent. Vile. The lowest of the low of his kind. Doesn’t even deserve the sympathy of maggots." Not finding what he’s looking for, Akira closes the door and moves on while his partner rattles in his ear. "In fact, I personally say thank you to the maggots and worms that will decompose his body. Put him out of his misery and feed him to the bottom feeder as appropriate.”

“Hmm, I won’t be there so tell me all the details when you find the cat.” They don’t have a layout of this forsaken house, only good guesses. He has a feeling he’s getting close to his treasure though.

On the other line, his partner hums, “Ah, what do we have here.”

"Found him?"

Silence from the other side. Just quiet breathing. Then some rustling.

Akira at that moment opens up another room, and he whistles. "Well, I found mine."

There in a case is a large jewel, dark as the sky outside, but with hints of orange and purple laid within. Akira is familiar with these sort of display cases, having gone through plenty of department stores to relieve them of their own jewelry. He gets to work immediately.

On the other end, there explodes a large amount of shuffling. Akira hears some short lived yelling before it is muffled. He grins.

"All tied up, get over here as soon as you are done, I'll let you finish him off."

"Aw, how sweet."

He's just about unlocked the case and sets to work disabling the lasers that surrounds jewel. But then he notices something.

"We have ourselves a tricky one here, Crow." He murmurs, eyeing the extra contraption that the jewel is nestled in.

"There's always something that holds us up, huh."

"Oh, you know it." Akira says. His hands work fast, nimbly passing tools around and trading them for other ones in his pouch. "This time we'll have to run as soon as I pull the jewel. Who knows what rooms will shut down too."

"Then, we'll have to exit from that room you're in."

"Explosives?" Akira asks gleefully and with relish.

"Well, we very well may have to." Crow answers grimly.

"There'll be people tailing us."

"We'll fly. Come on, what's taking so long? I haven't seen your rat face yet all night, and I'm tiring of looking at this pig."

"Yes, yes." Leaving the case half-plundered, he sweeps from the room, leaping down a set of stairs as his partner describes the location of the room he's in.

The master bedroom, with its large white gilded double doors spread open, the dim moonlight barely penetrating through the curtains. Rounding the corner, Akira smiles, then purrs in delight at the sight in the room. The room itself is decorated in maroon and brown, but beyond that, and disregarding the man tied up around the shoulders, arms, and legs laying on the ground wiggling like a lost worm, his partner is always a sight to behold.

"Did you dress up just for me?" He asks, striding forward. His dress susurrating around his legs.

His partner merely bares his teeth. "No, everything I do is for myself." But he comes forward to fold Akira into his arms.

"Come, I have something to show you." The two of them waltz to one corner of the room where Akira once again is shown proof that his partner has him all figured out. A wide, body length mirror stands against the wall, framing their bodies and also, allows Akira to exercise all his vanity in admiring their reflections.

He prances out of his partners arms, picking up the long drape of his dress to hold it high, exposing his long legs and his garter belt; the ruffles that tease the pale skin of his thigh and his ankles. The black skirt, held up with thin black straps at his shoulders, pinches in at his waist, emphasizing his svelte silhouette even more. Akira gives a twirl, flirting with his reflection as he flicks at the thin black ribbon at his collar and bending a leg up to show off his sensible little black heels, a parody of real business ones with its open top and wide band, but any sense of practicality is immediately negated by the stiletto four inch heel.

Giggling, he dances his bright red gloved hands along his jaw, admiring the pleasing line of it and the bright blood accent that matches the buttons on his black skirt.

"Aren't I just the prettiest, most glamorous thing you've ever seen!" He gasps - full affectation - skipping over to the man tied up on the floor.

Akira crouches, bending to put his face to close to the other's.

"Aren't I, you disgusting little pig?" He whispers, batting his eyelashes obnoxiously, hand to his face. The man's face is sweaty, his eyes bulging in alarm and panic. He doesn't answer.

Akira leaves him, turning to look at his partner. He wears a similar ensemble to Akira's, just with more striped accents in his tie and his stockings. When Akira leans up the inch between them for a kiss he appeases him, filthy and wet. Devouring each other as their tongues lick into the other's mouth.

Akira moans. "I missed this." He says as his partner kisses along his jaw. Crow chuckles, deep and knowing.

"Does my little maid want to indulge here? With an audience?" Akira opens one eye to see the man watching their every move raptly, and despite the man's desperation, Akira notices he can still get it up. Then his attention is stolen by Crow biting into the area under his jaw.

"You know we shouldn't," He moans, "oh, please." He grasps at the other's arms. He manages to pull the other away by cupping his face in his hands, and Crow reluctantly withdraws from him.

"No, no, I want you all to myself." Akira whispers, looking into the other's red eyes in the dark.

His partner looks into his eyes, lust burning in his irises, "I do like it when you hold yourself back," he says, "it just makes you all the more desperate and wanting.” He tilts his head, brushing his lips lightly along the contours of Akira’s face.

“Ready to be pliant underneath me." Crow searches Akira's face for his reaction, and satisfied, leans back so they're no longer forehead to forehead.

"Well, let's get the job done, then." They both turn, and Akira reaches under his jacket.

"Joker, if you would, please."

Withdrawing his glock, Akira removes the safety and points it at the man's head in motion. He steadies himself for a second before he shoots. The bullet sinks into the man's head and his body goes limp.

Then, as Akira goes to return the gun to its holster. The doorbell rings.

"Shit, what?!" His partner hisses.

Akira dashes out of the room immediately, Crow following closely right behind him. They skid down the marble hallways and leap up the stairs, Akira vaulting right over the bannister into the doorway of the treasure room.

He grabs the gem, Crow crouching down and setting explosives into the walls surrounding the east facing window. Akira walks to the door quickly but quietly, pushing the door close without a sound. In the floor below, he hears numerous quick footsteps.

"They'll head for here first, something must have tipped them off that he is dead."

"Quick, help me with these." Crow says, handing Akira a line of the little explosives, where he tacks them onto the rest of the surrounding wall.

The footsteps draw nearer. They duck behind the jewel stand. Crow triggers the explosives, the wall blasts outward, the glass window shattering. They're running for the wall. Crow shoots his grappling hook first as the glass clears. Akira turns with his gun on the door. Any moment now.

Crow leaps out, Akira hears him dropping smoke grenades below him. Akira shoots his hook with one hand, as he jumps, the door opens, revealing men dressed in dark suits. He fires at the door as he swings away. Still, stray bullets graze his dress, tearing holes through it. That's all the damage he acquires though, as he twists body and dives through the air.

Landing on a building, he scrambles over the windows and onto the rooftop. Freedom is almost, almost within his grasp!

His dress flies up, a rip running up one side from being shot, and he keeps running, leaping across gaps and landing rolling with his arm and shoulder taking the impact. Crow has separated from him so that they can lead their pursuers in separate directions.

From his vantage point he darts from building to building. Looking below, he sees black suits darting around, spreading out to try and catch all his escape routes.

He puts the silencer on his glock, then taking a flying leap off the building he shoots out his hook, and, sailing through the air, he shoots one of the men in the torso and he falls. Akira scrambles back onto a rooftop and starts running again.

Akira uses his knowledge of the city to his advantage, gaining on his pursuers and doubling back on them. At one point, he lands on one man from above, wrapping his arms around his burly neck and choking him until he loses consciousness. At the absence of sound from his fellow agent, another man rounds the corner and Akira is already there, roundhousing kicking him in the face. From there he makes quick work, slashing with his knife and striking out with his heels. His dress sweeps in arcs with his movements as he leads his opponent in a well-rehearsed dance.

He works his way across the city, losing what pursuers he could, until he doesn't hear the sound of crisp leather shoes on cobblestone anymore. Just the sound of the cramped apartments where he lives: teeming with drunks and nighttime tunes from turntables and lovemaking.

It started raining heavy, fat drops just as he was a couple streets away from his abode. Just on time, because heels aside, he would be a bit hard-pressed to expect to run at full speed without slipping and breaking his neck.

Akira enters the apartment building through the rooftop door. Glancing out the blurry windows to the streets below, he sees nothing but the yellow streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement. His clothing sticks to his skin slightly from the rain. He's damp, but his breath runs hot, blood still pumping from the chase.

When he gets to his door, he turns the doorknob, noting that the second lock has been undone. Akira closes and locks the door behind him, the smell of home welcoming him back in the darkness. It's when he walks through the doorway into the living room that he hears movement.

An arm flies up around his neck and he feels the cold press of a gun against the side of his head a split second later. A warm body presses against his back.

"Not paying attention? Hmm?" A crisp honey voice says in his ear. Temperate breath ghosting over it.

"If it was anyone, I knew it would be you."

"Too much trust can be deadly, angel, I could kill you right here."

Akira smirks, eyes on what he can see of the brick wall outside their window, gray with night. "What satisfaction would you get from killing me like this? I know you would rather set me free and hunt me down like the dog you like to call me."

The other person hums, pulling the gun away. Akira turns around and it's Goro he sees. He's as wet as Akira is, brown hair sticking in thick strands to his cheeks, his eyelashes stark and clumped, the folds of his sleeves pressing against his prominent biceps. Akira notices that he's removed his boots already.

Goro's eyes shine in the dim light. Glinting with something Akira is familiar with as he observes the glimpses of Akira's thigh that peeks through the tatters of his dress. Akira sheds his coat, removing his weapons one by one and hiding them among their bookshelves and floorboards.

"What took you so long?" Goro asks, walking closer into Akira's space.

"Maybe there were more of them tailing me than you."

"You probably pulled some flashy shit again, didn't you." Goro states, not expecting an answer. "Always so reckless." He grits out between his teeth. Goro is distracted, eyes on the drops of water sluicing Akira's neck.

"With the way you act, it's like you want to die." He advances forward, backing Akira up, eyes the color of dried blood in the darkness.

"I will only ever die by your hands, sweetie." Akira murmurs breathlessly, demure as he offers a flirtatious smile. "Until then, you're mine, and I'm yours." Eyes half-lidded as he bats his eyelashes up at the other. With a growl, Goro surges at him, hooking his arms underneath his thighs to lift him and press him against the wall.

Their lips meet, open-mouthed and hot, Goro pressing into his mouth. But Goro quickly moves onto his neck, biting and sucking furiously at Akira's smooth, unblemished skin. Licking away sweet rainwater. Akira knows Goro likes to see him bruised, out of order and ravaged.

There's dried blood on his temple from a cut he sustained from one of his scuffles. His clothes are tattered, curls not in their normal ignoble mop, but that's not enough for Goro. Never enough. All of that is Akira being mussed up from other people's ministrations, in the end, Goro wants to be the last bruise, the one that adds the cherry on top. He moans as Goro adds to the disorder of him, sucking bruises into his neck that ache deliciously.

Akira's long legs are wrapped tight around Goro's waist. He feels Goro's cock hard against his hole even through their clothes and he licks his lips, anticipating the feeling of that length stretching him, penetrating him. As Goro holds him against the wall, he's trapped when Goro thrusts against him. Akira offering lewd noises to spur him on. His cock pressing hard right where Akira wants him. But, not. Enough. Akira squirms, he can feel how hot, how stiff his penis is through the layers of his dress but it's only in teasing touches.

"C'mon, you bastard," Akira tosses his head against the wall in frustration, he intends to look debauched, and he wants to be, thumping one hand against Goro's shoulder. "Give me what I want already. More, more."

His cock aches in his panties, dripping and making the delicate fabric wet.

"Shhh, be careful of what you ask for." Goro is unbearably chaste as he kisses Akira where he's exposed. Kind when he wants, cruel when he wants. Exemplified by how he leisurely continues to roll and rut his hips into Akira, groaning huskily to show his enjoyment. Filthy, his hips undulating in a poor imitation of what Akira knows they can do instead.

With one last long drag of his hips that builds the heaving of Akira's chest, Goro sets him down, backing away. From a drawer he retrieves a bottle of lube that he hands to Akira.

"Prepare yourself."

Akira purrs at those familiar words. He takes the bottle from Goro who steps close enough so Akira can feel all of his athletic physique against him. The beefy width of his forearm delectable in the low light as he puts his hand on the wall next to Akira's head. "Stay against this wall while you do." Goro murmurs, pink lips hovering close to Akira's own just to tempt Akira with the anticipation of a kiss. "I'm going to fuck you against it." Akira is blinded momentarily by the desire those words inflict in him.

It's a feeling that consumes: the want that overtakes him without warning. He comes back to attention to see Goro stripping, warm toned shoulders and back revealing themselves as his dress drops. Akira holds back a groan at the sight, instead turning around and with one arm braced on the wall, works his panties down to his knees. His right arm holds up the side of his damp, luxurious dress as he reaches behind himself, fingers wet.

Akira let's himself release a groan of relief as he stretches himself with his fingers. _Finally_ the ache he's been craving, although from this position he can't get to the deep-seated pleasure that makes him lose all inhibition. He shivers, knowing that's what Goro intended.

While he works himself open, enjoying his self-ministrations shamelessly, Goro had finished stripping and Akira feels his presence behind him again. A hand lands on his thigh, slipping down to tangle with his garter belt and creep under his lacy white thigh highs. Akira eyes this encroachment of his body's territory; the possessiveness and ownership it shows, that Goro touches him where the clothing teases at so much more. If he dares to do the same in public, the temptation and reminder of what's to come is too much.

Akira closes his eyes against the sight and shivers again.

Two hands grab a cheek in each and spreads him for Goro's gaze. "You're doing well, good boy."

Akira sighs, turning his head to look at Goro completely naked in all of his body's finely tuned, muscled glory. Thick neck, definition rippling in his arms and chest. He's unbearably handsome. Charisma and strength personified.

"That's enough." Goro pulls his hand away and in the next moment, his cock is sliding into Akira. They're still damp, their silhouette an indecorous one with Akira's body bent over at the waist and Goro standing tall, hips pushed flush to Akira's ass that he's yanked to him. Goro's looking down, watching his cock as he starts to fuck in and out of his hole.

The heat is so good as Goro gets going. With every thrust he's hitting Akira deep, the head of cock kissing his prostate. Akira's legs are shaking, knees bending inwards as he moans, as the jolts of pleasure go straight to his cock. And he's so close to cumming but he can't, he just started getting his reward. His cock bobs, leaking more onto the floor between his heels. _Almost_ there.

Goro hauls his hips higher, growling, "Come on, is it really too much for you?" He taunts. Pausing, he sits with his cock deep, grinding into Akira's sweet spot. " _More_." Akira whispers, twisting back onto him to get more friction. He's mildly successful. "Please."

"You stupid cockslut, I can't fuck you if you can't keep yourself up." Goro pulls out, the loss and pleasurable slide of his head making Akira moan for different reasons. He's turned around, and with hands under his ass he's lifted up again, one leg over Goro's shoulder and the other around his waist.

From this position Goro can freely fuck him. Plowing into his hole as he presses him against the wall, uncaring, wild. Goro bares his teeth, breathing hard. His hips are too powerful, effortlessly pistoning in and out of Akira.

Akira's the vocal one, and it's a blessing their windows are closed, nevermind that their walls aren't that soundproof, because his lusty wails grow in delight with every jerk Goro makes that presses his hips against Akira's ass. They're sweating, wet with rain and blood, and Akira isn't crying, but Goro entertains the idea of how hard will he pleasure him tonight, to perhaps bring him to that shuddering, tearful height.

Akira orgasms first, dirtying the underside of his ripped dress even more. He's keening like there's no tomorrow. Finding no purchase on the wall that he's clawing at.

Held up. Surrounded. Being taken.

Over and over as Goro doesn't slow his pace at all, continuing to thrust up into him and letting gravity drop Akira down on him. He fucks him through his orgasm. Akira wants to moan for reprieve against the stimulation that's becoming too much for his body and mind to handle, but Goro has stolen his words.

With Akira pressed against him, Goro comes staring down at his face. His tear-stained, rapturous countenance as Goro rocks into him through his own release.

Then Goro carries him to the bedroom, laying him flat on their bed.

Goro flips his dress up, and gets down to his knees between Akira's legs. He gives himself time to rub his face against the silky smooth inside of his thighs and his stockings, before wrapping his mouth around Akira's cock. He licks away the cum, holding Akira's soft cock in his mouth patiently as his lover lies on the bed holding his own face and tugging at his hair; anything to distract from the overstimulation. 

Akira clutches him between his thighs, until eventually Goro's mouth brings Akira to full mast again, and he pleasures Akira until dawn is coming through their window and his lover pleads with him to let him cum again.


	3. the myth, the man, the maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more maid!ren/akira [art](https://twitter.com/abco414/status/868805624049442816?s=19) [inspo! ](https://twitter.com/abco414/status/999183791682797570?s=19)

"Does it look good, Morgana?"

A twirl. Spinning on one toe of the shiny tied up little shoes.

"It doesn't look _bad_ , per say."

A whisker twitch. Tail curling in the air like a ribbon.

"Why do they want you to dress up again?"

"I am perfect for this, or something, you know what Ann said."

"True, you can't underestimate Lady Ann's fashion expertise."

A sage nod and another whisker twitch. "It is a gentleman's duty to know when he is out of his depth, so to speak."

"She's like a businesswoman now too. This was her grand plan and apparently, we'll be the most popular classroom? And get the most customers?”

“Well…" Doubtful but hands clutched the small of the back right under a large black bow with tails like a shooting star.

"You've gotten the top scores in the school several times! Surely their opinion will be better by now."

"Hai, hai…"

 

* * *

 

"Jeez, what did you drag Akira into this time?!"

"I didn't drag him into anything! He agreed to it."

"Bleh, you've been all hush hush 'bout it, even Mishima doesn't know…"

"..."

"How does a guy not even know what is happenin' for the school festival! It’s for his own class."

"Ohoho, maybe it's because I'm sooo good at keeping secrets."

"Ugh, what a fake ass laugh…I ain’t believin’ that shit either…No way in hell."

 

* * *

 

"Just take me to your class already, Ann, you're killin' me here."

“I’m looking forward to this Ann, you’ve managed to raise the expectations so much, I almost stayed up wondering about your surprise instead of studying…”

“Where’s Akira?”

“He’ll join us soon! Don’t worry!”

“I trust you, Ann.”

“Yusuke...um, there’s no reason for you not to, though.”

“You have good taste, I know you will blow us all away.”

“Wow, thanks! I sure blew _myself_ away with this scheme.”

“Speaking of, we’re here! Voila, welcome to Class 2-D’s Maid Cafe.”

“I like the decorations. The pink floral theme is quite tasteful. Nice job, Ann-chan!”

“...How much of your class’s budget did you spend solely on the maid outfits, Ann.”

“Ahaha, don’t worry about it.”

“I have as much inclination to believe that as when Ryuji says that.”

"Everyone, cease your babble, is that… who _is_ that?"

“Whoa, she’s cute as heck.”

“How odd. I’ve never seen her around the school, and _I’m_ the student council president...”

“OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO.”

“Ugh, shuddup Ann.”

“Oh my, Ann is in such high spirits!”

“Lemme just go get her for you guys. Then you will _all_ see.”

"Okay everyone, meet…just kidding guess who it is!"

"Oh my heavens, is that you Akira?"

"Wait… really?"

"Mwehehehe I saw this coming, Ann came to me for advice for the outfits."

"Come on, enjoy, let's have some fun before the interview with Akechi later…"

 

* * *

 

Joker is a ballerina balanced on a blade. The tails of his coat sweeping like the long black hair of the _Yuki-onna_. Watch as he twirls for his own amusement, if he was a ballerina in a music box he would come to life and slash the box to pieces. He corkscrews through the air, a ballerina defying air, his arms lead the charge, reared back for momentum to sink the knife into spirit flesh, followed by his lithe, strong legs tucked close before he strikes a landing and the tails settle with a flutter of butterfly wings.

Strong and delicate. A willow whip made to bend but never break. A lissome whimsome creature, flightless but his flightiness makes him a winged being regardless.

Unknown and unknowable.

Joker is a myth, an all impractical being.

Akira is merely a mortal boy, in a knowable, stark garb. Red lines caging legs in a pattern that marks. A boy that goes by she, that goes by he. That slumps with hands in pockets, pushes glasses up a pointy thumpy nose so that the lenses flash, that hides in plain sight, to appear so nondescript unless one is able to breach the barriers. If one were to do so, it would bare a captivating steely, sweet, gray gaze, an artless grace to the curl of thick feathery locks, an inviting, impish secret of a smile, and a body, combat and gymnastics honed but so welcoming and alluring when the owner’s confidence is won.

This tier of luxury is on display as Akira revels in his new attire. Slim, handsome framing may emphasize the sleek cut his body, but a full skirt reveals the press of thighs against stockings, the flattering cinch of the waist, and so, a layered maid dress replete with ruffles and ribbons hints at a curviness and coyness that hid in him.

The rest of the phantom thieves watch the hushed, playful curve of his smile, a bright red and unbelievably shiny under the ordinary classroom lights. Here, where they sit everyday in their lessons, an unlikely being emerges. They observe the ease with which Akira plays the part of a pretty gem amongst them. Sparkling with the attention, he flutters and flirts, preening.

It can’t be that the bow bounces just so, with a flirty flick like a cat’s tail as he turns without it being intentional, right? He passes his hand over the apron of his skirt in a show of care, twirls one finger in his long side ponytail that winds its way down his shoulder soft and deep dark as black velvet, and his eyes, large and sensual with sweeping eyeliner, crinkle genially in smile.

 _He’s a fuckin’ hot girl_ , Ryuji thinks, unable to take his eyes off his best friend.

 _He’s like a princess in a fairytale_ , Ann thinks, the culprit with a hand in unleashing this beautiful beast.

 _He’s the perfect character for a doujin_ , Futaba watches him with glee and a sparkle in her eye.

Upon realizing who it is in the outfit and wig, Makoto had almost let out an outright squeak, hiding her eyes with her hands to peek from behind. _He’s like Joker right now, absolutely shameless. What a show-off!_ She looks at the line of his skirt with the purpose of securing that he maintains propriety. Her linger on the milky strip of skin that plays hide and seek from under the petticoat.

 _He would make a beautiful yokai_ , Yusuke observes, _a bewitching she-demon to prey on the souls of the unsuspecting_. And with every second he watches Akira, a story unfolds in his mind that deserves to be threaded into poetry and paint.

Haru appreciates his grace and loveliness. _He is learning about himself. How to be truthful to himself_.

 

* * *

 

“Nya! Masters welcome!”

“Ugh, what the fuck —”

“So cute!”

Delighted snickering from behind folded up knees.

“This is interesting…”

Hands held up to frame Akira into a rectangle.

“Here is our menu. Sorry we don’t have the squid takoyaki, we’re out catching the squid right now.”

“How does that work —”

“We apologize for our mistake. Here is a cute pose to make up for our negligence!"

The whole group watches in a mixture of horror and delight as Akira raises both hands curled into paws to his face, his body falling into sensual coquettishness that seem to come so easily: bending one leg and cocking his hip to one side so that his body is made up of attractive curves.

"Aauuugghh, my brain's exploding. I don't understand what I'm seeing."

"What you're seeing, Ryuji… is excellence. Beauty in a modern form."

"Holy fucking shit, that was amazing!! It blew my metaphorical boobs off."

"Futaba, language!!"

“It blew my metaphorical wig off?”

“That’s not remotely what she meant!”

“Don’t be so loud, Morgana! This ain’t a cat cafe.”

Giggling starts fluttering from the head of their seating arrangement. Immediately all squabbling ceases.

“Thanks a lot, gang.” Their leader says, one daintily articulated hand and wrist held over his mouth to hide his laughter.

“Actually, what I meant was,” He looks away for a moment, when he turns back, he’s back in his persona.

“Get a close look, because it’ll be the last one you’ll get.” With a hand flared under his chin, he tilts his head and beams a lovely, aloof smile. Sparkling in every way, every facet was a put on act, but the deceiving authenticity of it was intoxicating regardless.

Oohs and aahs come from the group. Futaba snaps hundreds of photos on her phone.

Which was useless because after their first round of food, the group goes to take photos with their princess of the hour at the photo op the class set up.

Of course, Akira uses that opportunity for a plethora of poses, from lifting a leg and draping it across Ann’s hip and running a hand up his smooth thigh, to having Makoto lift him bridal style as she stares into the camera with stony concentration.

Yusuke dips him over his arm while their other hands are clasped together in a faux ballroom dancing pose. Akira beams breathlessly into the camera from his upside-down spot as Yusuke stares down at his blushing countenance. With Ryuji they opt for a cliche movie poster pose: Akira leaning against his chest with a hand over his heart as though Ryuji is his hero, although both of them eye the camera with equal challenging stares and matching grins.

Futaba has them taking fighting stances, both of them holding up finger guns in a mock battle, Akira crouches and she stands behind him at the ready. Haru has them assume arabesques — thank goodness he’s still flexible enough to pull it off — their arms held like wings and legs held pointed in the air as their bodies intersect, creating a _W_.

Eventually, they settle back in their chairs. Although Akira is dragged off to attend to other guests, namely other girls who are completely obsessed with this new mysterious person.

“In the end, they don’t know it’s him, huh.” Morgana muses.

Tittering and squeals come from every table Akira is called to.

“No…” Ann says.

“Oh, everyone’s here!”

A collective cognitive groan sounds from the group’s location. Yep, that’s one Akechi Goro that just decided he’ll show up at their table. Under the guise of checking out the venue. He’s lucky that all the girls in the classroom are too busy with maidAkira to swarm him.

“Can I have this takoyaki?” His polite smile is just as fake as Akira’s, but infinitely less pretty, as of right now, at least.

“Uh, well, y’see…That one’s —”

“Who is that?” Akechi interrupts Ryuji, although all irritation that could have arisen is gone once everyone sees who he’s looking at with wide, awestruck eyes.

Just one curly haired femme fatale across the room in her cute little heels and puffy maid dress.

Ryuji rubs his nose with one finger, grinning. “Oh, I don’t know, she just showed up today, she’s all the rage right now.”

Then everyone stares in abject horror as Akechi — still in his fervent observation of Akira — sticks the one spicy takoyaki straight into his mouth.

The thing is, even when the spice hits him, he doesn’t stop staring, or chewing for that matter. As if looking at a beautiful person was indeed so _breathtaking_ , that he thought he was supposed to demonstrate that fact by choking and coughing with an inch of his life.

Or maybe he had a good guess as to who the person under the guise actually was, who knows.

 

* * *

 

"Love Arrow..."

Two finger guns at ready. Twirl. Both arms spin up over his head while still miming holding a rifle. Just as he stops his rotation both hands come down and point.

Wink.

"...Shoot!"

And Akechi mimes falling over clutching his heart from the force of Akira's love arrow.

When the polaroid finishes developing the rest of them doodle arrows and blood hearts spewing out the middle of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im always ready to cry about maidakiren on my twitter @[brynhildvelvet](https://twitter.com/brynhildvelvet) if you wanna witness it


End file.
